In a moment, the cottager who was present, and returning with usury to Mrs Mowbray's daughter the anxious interest which she had taken in his, proposed various means of transporting Adeline to the Lawn; a difficult and a hazardous undertaking: but the poor invalid was willing to risk the danger and the fatigue; and her mother could not but indulge her. At length the cottager, as it was for the _general benefactress_, having with care procured even more assistance than was necessary, Adeline was conveyed on a sort of a litter, along the valley, and found herself once more in the house of her mother; while Savanna, sharing in the joy which Adeline's countenance expressed, threw herself on Mrs Mowbray's neck, and exclaimed, 'Now I forgive you!' 'Mother, dear mother,' cried Adeline, after having for some minutes vainly endeavoured to speak--'I am so happy! no more an outcast, but under my mother's roof!--Nay, I even think I _can_ live now,' added she with a faint smile. Had Adeline risen from her bed in complete health and vigour, she would scarcely have excited more joy in her mother, and in Savanna, than she did by this expression. 'Can live!' cried Mrs Mowbray, 'O! you shall, you must live.' And an express was sent off immediately to Dr Norberry too, who was removed to Kendal, to be near his elder daughter, lately married in the neighbourhood. Dr Norberry arrived in a few hours. Mrs Mowbray ran out to meet him; but a welcome died on her tongue, and she could only speak by her tears. 'There, there, my good woman, don't be foolish,' replied he: 'it is very silly to blubber, you know: besides, it can do no good,' giving her a kiss, while the tears trickled down his rough cheek. 'So, the lost sheep is found?' 'But, O! she will be lost again,' faltered Mrs Mowbray; 'I doubt nothing can save her!' 'No!' cried the old man, with a gulp, 'no! not my coming so many miles on purpose?--Well, but where is she?' 'She will see you presently, but begged to be excused for a few minutes.' 'You see,' said he, 'by my dress, what has happened,' gulping as he spoke. 'I have lost the companion of thirty years!--and--and--' here he paused, and after an effort went on to say, that his wife in her last illness had owned that she had suppressed Adeline's letters, and had declared the reason of it--'But, poor soul!' continued the doctor, 'it was the only sin against me, I believe, or any one else, that she ever committed--so I forgave her: and I trust that God will.' Soon after they were summoned to the sick room, and Dr Norberry beheld with a degree of fearful emotion, which he vainly endeavoured to hide under a cloak of pleasantry, the dreadful ravages which sorrow and sickness had made in the face and form of Adeline.